Eyes of Eventide
by Anonyymi
Summary: When William dies, Grell loses his will to live. Warning: suicide.


AN: I wrote this when Fable III was a new game. If I have readers who do not like video games then you should know that Fable III came out sometime last year. I wanted to share this with you because it has been a long time since I've updated. I am thankful that my readers have been patient for Princess Grell and Clockwork Doll. EDIT: I do not think that Grell would want to die if William died. Grell is a strong person and would not let the death of one person result in his own death. - Madame Stephanie

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In the light that is produced after the initial sound of the striking of a match, the black wax of three slender candles was reflected. A delicate, trembling hand shakily lit these candles with the wooden match it held in its long, bony fingers cased in a black velvet glove. He brought the match to his pale lips after the candles were lit and put the dying light of the flame out of its misery, he watched it give in to his breath and find its release, reduced to nothing now but lacklustre smoke, which for its weak appearance gave off a very strong smell. Grell Sutcliff felt very much like that flame, weak and even dying, only supporting itself on a burnt spit of wood and continuing only because it had a faint will to live inspired by a strong fear of death. He felt very much like that flame, and he knew that even if he didn't do what he had the courage to do now, he would go with it soon anyway.

He was mourning, he had been mourning for over a year now, and he could not count how many times he had been told to overcome himself – but how could he? – he felt insecure without William, as if he were a plant without roots and even the slightest gust of wind could blow him over. He felt incomplete without William; it was still so hard for him to enter his office in the morning to discover that he wasn't there, since he had been with him since his rebirth. He felt lonely without William, he may have been distant and distracted with his work but Grell had loved him and he knew that William had loved him back. He had told him so after so many passionate nights at either ends of a table or underneath the covers of his bed as he held him in his arms, all of which were lit by nearby candlelight.

Just like tonight, Grell thought, he was not in a public place where he could be found easily. He had long ago replaced Madame Red's coat with something more suitable, it had been too flashy and flamboyant to wear during mourning, and his hair had been too. He had cut it off, not all of it, but it was now level with his chin and was just now pulled back into a black beret to be less obvious for anyone who might try to look for him. Grell let out a sigh and watched his breath come out visible in the cold of this winter night and float to the heavens to join the clouds, if Grell had known less about death he could have fancied that he might have gone with it. But he was a shinigami; there was no one but another shinigami who knew more about death than he did. He did not only reap and judge the souls of humans as his job, but he had experienced death first-hand to become what he was now.

It was strange, how he saw death daily, but the death of one person close to him could have reduced him to what he was now.

It might have been because William was special, he knew him better and loved him more than anyone, and he had felt even when he was alive that William was all he had. He had never imagined losing him until he was gone, and when he was gone, he realised how many things he had never said to him or done with him. He didn't even think that he had said goodbye that morning, and now, he would never have the chance to. Just the thought of it brought tears to his eyes, and he welcomed their sting, his tears and his bleeding were the only ways he could prove to himself that he was still alive – and that it had not been William, but himself, that had passed on into the next life – he humoured the thought sometimes, that this is what hell was _really_ like. Of course, Grell knew better than that too, he wished that he could be more ignorant – or was the right word innocent? – He wouldn't know, he wasn't either.

His surroundings were beautiful and relaxing – he sat on the green grass at the edge of a lake which reflected the moon and stars, underneath a tree where he had positioned his candles on an above-ground root, and lit them to brighten the night.– this atmosphere was unlike any environment he had been in for a long time. He had once enjoyed the chaos and noise of a crowded room, and what he had enjoyed even more was being the centre of attention in that chaotic and noisy room that was full of people looking at him, but now that thought no longer appealed to him. Since William's death, he had felt quite unlike himself; he had originally thought it was a phase inspired by the trauma of the event, but by now, Grell knew that he would never recover. Grell didn't want to be that way, he didn't want to linger, he wanted to _live_ – and if he couldn't do that, maybe it was better if he didn't linger at all. Grell allowed himself to sob once or twice and let a few tears fall as he opened the bag that he had brought with him to remove what he needed, he wiped at them futilely but more came and fell. It was unfair - Grell didn't want to cry - he wanted to be strong for this.

He removed from his bag a simple box, he had bought the contents of this box on the black market because it was difficult to find anywhere else, and when he had been given this box by the black market dealer he had been told that it was for discretion and to keep them in good condition – ten belladonna or deadly nightshade berries - the man had said that he had sold these before and that ten should be enough for a man his size. He also remembered spitefully that he had told him good luck as he left. Humans were so cruel. His hands trembled as he opened the lid and examined the berries. He took one in his hand and decided that it didn't look poisonous and even resembled a blackberry but for a simple difference in size. He brought the berry to his nose and took in its delicate scent. Was this truly a poisonous fruit? Grell decided that there was only one way to find out…

It didn't taste as bad as he thought it should, it was tender and mildly sweet, and because he knew that poisons were more effective when ingested on an empty stomach, he hadn't eaten anything but water, and ate them hungrily. When he was finished, Grell laid back into the grass so that he could see the stars in what he knew and accepted fearfully as the last hours of his life. If he died quickly it would be in six hours but what frightened him is that, because he was a shinigami, it might take a long time – twenty-four hours at the longest – for him to die. He hoped that he wouldn't have to be conscious the entire time, even now, he could feel the symptoms of the belladonna berries affecting him, even with his glasses, the stars in the sky began to distort as his pupils dilated.

Grell shut his eyes because there was no reason to keep them open if he couldn't see, but with his eyes shut he became more aware of what other symptoms he was experiencing. His mouth was dry, he noticed quickly, he tried to lick his pale lips but couldn't moisten them. Although, his dry mouth was not as concerning as the rapid pace of his heart, which was beating heavily and quickly against his ribs with enough pressure to break them. Grell would have frowned but he had to focus on his breathing, over which he was quickly losing control. Soon, he was breathing, or panting, as fast as his poisoned body could process at a speed to rival his heart. It was, to say the least, frightening. When Grell had died originally, it had been a different experience from what he was feeling now, and he hated how this felt.

Grell sat up and even tried to open his eyes, but his vision was still blurred, but he could still see well enough to remove his black coat as he was becoming uncomfortably hot even without it. He noticed that he didn't have a lot of control over his movements, and that it was difficult to do even that. It might have been the intense headache he was experiencing. Grell shut his eyes again and focused on breathing, a hand over his heart as if that would be enough to slow its pace. Grell realised then that this was only the beginning, and that only if he were lucky, he would die in six hours… Grell also realised then how much he was afraid to die. He hadn't realised how afraid he was of death until he realised he was dying, the calmer part of his mind was curious if William had been afraid to die. It was almost peaceful in a terrifying way if he imagined that William had felt the way he did now.

He didn't open his eyes even as he was standing, he had to use the tree for support, only when he securely on both feet and still holding onto the tree, that he opened his eyes. The light of the moon hurt so he shut them again, he had only opened them to get an idea of his surroundings, in his dizzy state of mind he didn't know where he was going but he knew that he had to leave. Careful not to fall over once he let go of the tree, Grell took an unsure step forward, and another, before his foot caught on a tree root not unlike the one he had left his candles on and stumbled forward to fall face-down into the grass. After that, Grell didn't have enough control over his body to move again, and so he lay there – his vision unreliable, his mouth dry, his heart racing, his breathing rapid, and with an undeniable fear for the life that he had so foolishly forsaken.

And Grell couldn't help but feel, in his final moments of consciousness, that if William knew what he had done to himself this night that he very well might hate him for it.


End file.
